


Kenmare Kisses

by VioletBehaviour



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Confused Draco Malfoy, Denial of Feelings, Dron, Language, M/M, Post-War, Professional Quidditch, Quidditch, Secret Relationship, Sexual Content, Slash, Strong Language, Stubborn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-23 00:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13775604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletBehaviour/pseuds/VioletBehaviour
Summary: Things were looking up for the Kenmare Kestrels - with Draco and Ron as starting players and Harry brought on as the new seeker, will they be able to score off the pitch as well as on?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, I wanted to thank the amazing team that keeps this fest put together! You all are something kind of wonderful! I also want to thank Mahawna and JLPierre for their stupendous alpha/beta skills on this piece - this proved to be a bigger challenge than I anticipated, and they kept me grounded and in line - thanks ladies! This was the first time I’ve ever included elements of a potential Drarry, so I hope I was able to do justice to emansil’s amazing prompt!

 

* * *

 

The rain fell heavily outside the Kenmare Pitch, water droplets bouncing and hitting the outer shell of the protection charm above, displaying a cascade of streams overhead as players took to the practice. First and second players alike were stretching for another full day of Quidditch, mentally prepared themselves for a complete verbal attack from their coach, Tier O’Donnic, a veteran player from the 1980’s who took the wizarding world by storm with his aggressive methods on the pitch. Methods he had now drilled and beaten into his own players.

The team had acquired many new players for the quickly approaching season, losing many original members to injuries or early retirements. The Kenmare Kestrels weren’t exactly known to be the _best_ team in the league, but under O’Donnic’s reign the past two years, they were shaping up to become a force to be reckoned with. The new training methods O’Donnic has enforced on the players would ensure an uprise in the team’s standings for sure.

Draco stood on the sidelines of the pitch, next to their aged coach who was holding a clipboard. Draco smirked, watching the green of their practice robes stand out against the dull gray of the clouds, shifting his focus from player to player, lingering his eyes on a particularly prominent hint of red floating near the rings to the right.

Before he knew it, the clipboard that was previously in his coach’s firmly gripped hands slammed into his chest, knocking him from his inclined gaze. He peered to his right at O’Donnic’s firm expression as the older wizard placed a beaten old whistle to his mustache covered lips - and blew. Draco’s ears rang long after the whistle left the veteran’s mouth, bringing his index finger to his earlobe and shaking to clear his hearing.

Draco was instructed to _prop is braggart arse on the sidelines_ by his coach, something Draco wasn’t entirely too keen on, to help further the training for his backup, should anything ever happen. He had been flying side by side all week with Frank Halloway, the newest rookie to join the Kestrels, in hopes the brunette boy would gain more confidence on the broom - today being the first day the coach demanded Halloway try a handle at the plays on his own without Draco's assistance.

It’s not that Draco minded sitting today’s practice out, but his competitive instincts were triggered the day O’Donnic put Halloway under Draco’s wing. He wasn’t particularly nervous, knowing already he was the best damned Chaser on their team, but when it came to the young rookie, he couldn’t deny the lightest of buzz in his ears - brought on from more than just the coach’s persistent whistle blowing.

“ _Malfoy_!” Coach O’Donnic yelled as if he weren’t standing two feet beside him. “Be sure to watch Halloway closely. If you see him muckin’ up a play, you have my permission to hex him on the spot.” Draco smirked, peering up and pulling his wand slyly from his robe; he blew a kiss at a now pale-faced Halloway on his broom.

Draco knew it was a scare tactic, the coach not entirely serious with the command, but Halloway did _not_ , causing a wave of chortles from players across the pitch. Coach O’Donnic blew his whistle again, a second time in which Draco wasn’t prepared for, and the scrimmage began. Draco kept his eyes narrowed in on Halloway’s flying closely as his Coach barked orders beside him, pacing the length of the pitch. Draco held the clipboard loosely with one hand, while his other twirled his wand through his fingers - he wouldn’t _mind_ casting an innocent hex or two.

“Oi, _Malfoy_!” His name echoed off the pitch loudly, jolting him from his concentration on the rookie Chaser. He shifted his gaze, grunting at the ginger idiot bellowed at him, wearing a lopsided grin.

“Weasley.” Draco’s tone was as sharp as his face, slicing through the syllables of his teammate’s name like the hex he wished he could cast.

“So snippy.” Ronald Weasley lowered himself to the ground, landing his feet firmly on the sidelines where Draco stood. A mild puff of air brushed across Draco’s face, and he snarled at the widening grin across Ron’s lips as he stood his broom up, using it as a prop. “Warming the bench today, _Malfoy_? Training your _replacement_?”

“Bugger off, Weasley,” Draco sneered, side stepping away to make as much space between him and the Weasel as possible. He peered back up at Halloway and laughed, “The poor _kid_ doesn’t stand a chance against my play record. Coach already said I was perfect. Why worry about being replaced when I already own the pitch?”

“Don’t be such a tosser.” Ron threw his head back, watching some of the team soaring over the pitch. He squinted his eyes under an imaginary sun, holding a hand to his forehead. “How’s the view from down here anyway? You admiring me from beneath again? That is your _favourite_ position, yeah?”

“So many questions,” Draco sneered, his eyes half rolling. “You’re looking mighty good in green there, Weasley. Makes your hair stand out more than usual - like a tiny leprechaun who’s lost his gold.” He flicked his wand in a _shoo’ing_ manner. “Why don’t you run along back to your rainbow?” Ron jerked out of reflex, dodging the movement of Draco’s wand in a not so graceful manner. When his mind caught up with the knowledge there wasn’t a curse or hex shooting from the wand’s tip, he stood up straight again, peering at Draco with a playful growl.

“Proud of that one, are you?” Ron took a half step closer to Draco, leaning his mouth closer to Draco’s ear. “You always said you liked me in green.”

Ron tossed Draco a quick wink before mounting his broom again. Draco watched him soar back into the air, taking his position in front of the rings. Draco tried to deny Ron the luxury of smiling, but he couldn’t. If he was being honest, he truly _was_ proud. Not just of his witty response to Ron’s annoying, yet playful antics, but of the fact he and the rowdy ginger had been secretly sleeping together for the past six months.

It was casual of course, both trying to focus on their careers and neither committing to the idea of spending time on _feelings_. He doesn’t even recall how it all came to pass - the outwardly spoken slurs towards one another having turned into slightly subtle flirting. The bantering remained obviously, both riling the other up, making their secret rendezvous together all the more exciting. Draco laughed at the thought - Ron really _did_ look good in green.

The remainder of practice went as expected, aside from a few purposely close calls with stray hexes in Halloway’s direction. The rookie had a long way to go, but Draco had seen worse. Coach O’Donnic really was taking strides in changing up plays and building up each teammate to bring out the best of their abilities. The other teams in the league had no idea what they would be up against, at least in Draco’s mind.

“Alright ya ingrates. Gather ‘round,” called Coach O’Donnic when practice came towards the close for the day. “Great work out there today. Well, most of ya. Malfoy! Keep yourself on the mends. I don’t want to have to put _this_ imbecile on the pitch if I don’t have to.” He was pointing at an exhausted Halloway, whose shoulders sunk at the jibe. “Now. We are still in need of a Seeker who can catch a Snitch worth a damn since McKinnic decided to acquire a new fear of heights.” His focus shifted to the blond man on his right, who looked down at the ground.

“Draco was a Seeker back in school, Coach.” Halloway spoke abruptly. He instantly regretted that decision once he met the coach’s eyes, however. Draco cleared his throat, but it was Ron who spoke up.

“Draco was a _shit_ Seeker.” He led the rumble of light laughter, some only encouraged by Ron’s loud chuckles.

“Thanks for that, Weasel. Truly,” Draco said leaning against his broom. “To be fair, it wasn’t exactly _my_ preferred position. I’m rather happy where I’m at,” Draco side-eyed Ron, who grinned all the wider, his blue eyes sparkling.

“Hang on. Harry is looking to play!”

“Harry? Harry who?” Coach O’Donnic’s ears were red, a clear sign of his impatience. Ron took a step forward, his broom hanging loosely in his hand.

“Harry Potter of course. He’s a whiz on a broom. Not to mention the youngest Seeker in Hogwarts.”

“Not this again,” began Draco with a scoff. “That was years ago now. Besides, he’s probably gotten fat sitting behind a desk at the Ministry all day.” Draco lowered his eyes, half jealous, but slid a devilish smirk across his face. Sure his rival held his interests throughout the duration of school, but it was just a childish infatuation. At least that’s what Draco kept telling himself.

“ _THE_ Harry Potter? Weasley! Why haven’t you said anything before?! I’ll have my people contact his people so we can get him in here pronto,” Coach O’Donnic was practically gleaming at the idea, glaring at a washed up McKinnic to his right. “Who ever heard of a bloody Seeker scared to get back on his broom?” It's _outrageous_!”

“It’s _really_ high up there, coach!” McKinnic bellowed, shaking at the idea of just how high the Snitch could fly. Half of the team rolled their eyes, the other half simply looked away.

“Uh, Coach? Harry’s people _are_ my people,” Ron replied with his signature slanted grin.

“Oh. Right. Just bloody get him in here, Weasley! I want my hands on _The Chosen One_ before any other team gets word he’s looking to join up.” His eyes scanned the length of the team in front of him. “Now, hit the showers! Get out of here before I make you all run another scrimmage!”

•♛❣♞•

The locker room echoed with playful bickering and chatter as the team scattered to their designated lockers. The small space contained three aisles of benches lodged between rows of lockers on either side, barely accommodating the growing team’s number of players, with a large communal shower towards the back.

Ron watched as Draco sat down on the bench beside his locker and licked his lips as the blond removed his gear. He quickly shifted his focus when a jittery McKinnic shuffled by, gripping his broom firmly in his hands and muttering something about how the mighty have fallen. With a shake of his head, Ron pulled his chest gear off and flung his shirt up over his head, his hair sticking up slightly from the sweat of a well played practice.

“Oh, look, a coffee! What a _surprise_ ,” Draco said, feigning actual surprise after opening his locker. “You never fail me, Weasley.” Draco took in the aroma of his coffee, turning to face back at Ron. “Thanks for the co-”

“Coffee, black, with two sugars and a pinch of cinnamon,” Ron finished with a lopsided grin. Draco sat back down, straddling the bench as he peered around at the other players. He had a smug expression on his face as he bit his lower lip.

“Careful, Weasel. People will start _talking_.” Draco teased, faked a shocked expression.

Ron was smiling, unable to keep the corner of his mouth from curling upward. He’d been spoiling the already spoiled blond since their rumbles in the sheets began, unconcerned at the prospect of others potentially _talking_. Shagging the post Slytherin saint had proven to be worth its thrill. The old _coffee in the locker_ move was pure genius on his part - subtle but he knew the blond appreciated it. Not that he cared about Draco’s feelings - that wasn’t their style - but keeping Draco happy while tossing a slanderous comment or two kept the man on his toes.

“Trust me, _no one_ is paying us any mind,” Ron jeered, stripping down completely and grabbing a fresh green towel from a nearby rack. He didn’t miss Draco’s eyes on him, reveling in the power he held over the Slytherin’s attentions.

“So, how do you manage to sneak off and place a coffee into my locker every day after practice?” Draco asked, his eyes raking over a naked Ron, who was lingering close by, using any excuse to prolong the moment.

“Ah, I shall never tell!” Ron grinned, tossing the towel around his neck. He disappeared behind a row of lockers, stepping into the open shower space. His grin only widened when Draco appeared shortly after, purposely skipping a shower head, keeping a safe distance between them.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you? I mean, it doesn’t exactly take a master wizard to figure out how to make a coffee appear, you know.” Draco was standing under the shower, rolling his shoulders and allowing the water to run down his back.

“I could always stop,” Ron said, scrubbing a bar of soap over his chest. “Since, you know, it appears to have lost its appeal.” He watched as Draco rolled his eyes - he was always rolling his eyes - and peered about the shower, inching closer to Ron with a sly side step once the only other teammate vacated the now empty space. Ron paused in his circular washing over his chest, trying not to laugh at Draco’s movements. “Speaking of _lost_ appeal. You look ridiculous.”

Draco sneered, meeting the taller man’s gaze with a knobbish smirk. “I beg to differ, Weasley.” Draco said hovering his face closely to Ron’s ear, nipping his lobe. He placed his hand over Ron’s holding the soap, sliding it down the full length of his stomach.

Ron laughed, allowing Draco to guide his hand over his flesh before reaching and grabbing Draco by the forearm so suddenly Draco didn’t have time to react. Ron was in his space, capturing his lips and backing him forcely into the shower wall. Draco’s eyes went wide, and he half attempted to push Ron back, but he gave up almost as quickly. Their lips still clashed together, Ron allowed Draco to grip him between the legs, allowing a hiss to escape against Draco’s mouth. He flicked his tongue, nipping Draco’s bottom lip before he pulled away altogether.

“So much for discreet.” Ron teased shaking his hair under the current of the shower, the water falling down his body in streams.

“But I do _so_ enjoy the possibility of getting caught.” Draco replied, walking back to finish under his own shower.

Ron breathed a laugh, knowing damn well Draco was terrified of getting caught - he knew it, the blond git knew it.

Ron turned off the water, running the towel through his hair and shaking off any extra water from his skin before wrapping the green fabric around his waist. Draco followed suite, the two of them walking at a reasonable distance between them back to their lockers to finish getting ready to return home.

Ron was half emerged in his locker, gathering the last remaining items before aiming to leave and head to Harry’s. His locker slammed in his face, Ron jolting back with his eyes wide.

“What the _fuck_?!” Ron shouted, his face narrowly missing the door. Draco was there, leant against the metallic row of lockers, a smirk on his face with arms folded over his chest and standing expectantly.

“I hope you plan on finishing what you started, Weasley.” Draco quirked a blond brow, Ron standing with a face of indifference.

“I’ve got to go talk to Harry, remember?” Ron threw his bag over his shoulder and took a half step back as the image of Halloway came into focus on their right. Ron glowered at the rookie, Halloway stopping midway and turning quickly down one of the rows of lockers.

“After that then.” Draco’s eyes were boring into Ron’s, and the plea in his tone made Ron shift to adjust his pants.

“You almost sound as if you’re _begging_ , Malfoy.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Draco said sharply, standing up straight and clearing his throat. “Forgive me for wanting a night with you before you turn back into the goofy sidekick tomorrow.” Ron grimaced at the appellation - _sidekick_. He would have resented the blond had he not been so good behind closed doors. “Hit a nerve, did I? Good.” Ron could see how proud Draco was, trying his damnedest to rile him up. “Would be nice though, having _Potter_ around.”

“Why? We already know you’re good on a broom.” Ron flashed him a wink. “You don’t have to compete for attention.”

“That’s true. But the _Wonder Brat_ won’t be able to keep his arms off me. I can assure you of that.” Ron all but sneered at the thought. Harry would never subject himself to such punishment as to mess around with Draco Malfoy - the thought alone made his shoulders drop. It was true, Ron caved to the blond’s charms, but that was different.

“Please. Harry wouldn’t brush you with the tip of his broom.” Ron instantly regretted his comment, watching an already smug expression grow all the wider on Draco’s face.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to just the _tip_.” Draco inclined his head in a laugh, and his smile morphed into a wicked smirk. “Jealous?”

“Bugger off, Malfoy. You wish.” Ron turned, walking purposely to avoid any further conversation. Draco called to his back, but Ron didn’t look back. He was done talking about Draco, Harry, and what he intended to do with _brooms_.

“See you after, _Weasel_!”

 


	2. Chapter 2

•♛❣♞•

Ron arrived at Grimmauld Place that night with a skip in his step, taking long strides across the threshold with a grin the size to rival Hagrid’s hut. He heard Harry coming down the stairs, and turned into the den just as Harry entered the room.

“Your owl sounded urgent enough,” Harry said taking a seat in an armchair by the fire. He bent one leg over his knee, and began unlacing his shoes. Harry raised both his brows at the sight of Ron’s eager expression. “Uh oh. I know that look. What’s up?”

“You, sir, are _formally_ invited to Ireland in the morning.” Ron plopped clumsily on the antique couch across from Harry, his arms stretched wide on the back of the furniture on either side.

“Sorry?” Harry lowered his leg as his gaze zoned fully onto his friend. Ron leant forward, his elbows on his knees as he exaggerated his arms animatedly.

“ _Quidditch_ , Harry! Coach wants you on as Seeker!” He dropped his arms, searching the length of the room. “Where’s Kreacher? I’m famished!” Ron slapped his thighs and stood abruptly, casually walking towards the back of the house. Harry jolted upward, tripping over his half removed shoes before trailing behind him with a confused look.

“ _Ron_! Slow down. Your coach wants _me_ on your team?”

By the time Harry walked into the kitchen, Ron had already found himself a bowl of fruit, and was three bites into an apple. He nodded in response, swallowing before responding.

“You can’t be all that surprised, can yuh? You said yourself you were looking to play.” Ron took another large bite of the apple, propping himself with his palm on the counter.

“Okay, maybe, fine yeah, but Ron, I didn’t expect your boss to sign me on without seeing me play first.” Harry leant back against the wall, glaring at Ron in slight disbelief.

“All I had to do was mention your bloody name, and he damn near _shat_ himself.”

“And he wants me to just show up. _Tomorrow_?” Harry’s eyes went wide, staring at Ron with a complete crazed expression.

“Well, our coach is a bit of a nutter, but I think we’re up for our best season yet! And with you on board, we’d be unstoppable!” Ron once again maneuvered his arms with high enthusiasm, shaking them as he emphasized the last word.

“So, I’d have to play nice with _Malfoy_? That should be fun.” Harry tried to suppress his smirk, but despite the tone in his voice, he wasn't able to. Ron’s eyes twitched, narrowing slightly as he looked at his friend, his arms dropping back to his sides.

“Malfoy isn’t all bad. He’s actually quite pleasant when you get past his massive ego.” Ron tossed the apple core into the trash and slid his hands down the front of his jeans. He watched as Harry’s eyes shifted, as if lost in his own thoughts.

“Oh, I wouldn’t mind playing with Malfoy again,” he smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “In fact, I’m looking _forward_ to getting to see him on a daily basis.”

Ron’s brows shot up. “Oh yeah? And why is that? Not like you’ll be going after the same Snitch this time around.” Ron had grabbed himself a jug of pumpkin juice from the cooling cabinet and took a large sip. His thoughts slowly creeped to his earlier - and similar - conversation with Draco.

“Probably for the best. I got distracted once or twice with that arse of his leaning forward on his broom the way he did.” Ron choked on the juice, coughing loudly as he pounded a fist over his chest.

“ _Beg your fuckin’ pardon_?”

“Oh come on, Ron. You had to have seen it.”

Ron in fact knew Draco’s arse well - and was not particularly keen on talking about it with his best mate. Especially with the gleam he had in his eye. Ron was _shit_ with hiding his emotions, especially when he was jealous or angry, but thankfully could blame the pumpkin juice for his watery eyes.

“Nope. Can’t say I have.” Ron shrugged. “I mean, sure I’ve seen him on a broom but he’s never been in the right angle for his arse to be-”

Harry doubled over, laughing at his friend stuttering a response. Ron gave a silent snarl at the top of Harry’s head before the raven haired boy straightened his posture again. Ron lied of course, having had Draco in the perfect angle countless of times.

“I meant my infatuation you git,” Harry laughed, wiping a stray tear from his eye. “I mean sure, we didn’t exactly get along at Hogwarts, but that was all part of the act, right?”

Ron stewed where he stood, half listening to Harry go on and on about how obvious he thought he was back at Hogwarts. With his conversation with Draco earlier that night, Ron felt himself slowly disconnecting from both his best mate _and_ his secret lover, quickly cursing himself for ever throwing Harry’s name in the hat to join the team. He was obviously glad of course, missing how they used to play together before and knowing damn well how miserable his friend was as an Auror sitting at a desk in the Ministry of Magic, but his selfishness burned inside him, boiling over in silent regret.

He didn’t stand a chance, not now, not ever. Not with the history Draco and Harry had; not with his history with Harry in general for that matter. Ron had always been the faithful sidekick - as Draco wonderfully commented on earlier - coming in second to his best mate’s accomplishments. He tried not to be the insecure git he was in school, not that he could blame Draco for wanting Harry over him. Sure he had come up in the world, but scoring a job as Keeper on a team with less than thrilling ratings in a village-out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere, Ireland wasn’t exactly the most appealing of qualities.

Harry had an established fortune, not to mention his name was _still_ bloody everywhere. Reputation was something Ron knew little of, his privileges somewhat miniscule even though he, too, helped stop the war those three years ago. Ron suddenly felt less secure in his relationship, knowing Draco would cling to both Harry’s reputation _and_ privilege.

“Well, I best be off. Don’t be late, yeah?” Ron said side stepping out of the kitchen, interrupting Harry’s ramblings of a particular instance in a corridor with Draco.

“Oh, right. But you just got here!” Harry followed Ron to the fireplace and watched as his friend scooped up a handful of floo powder.

“Big day tomorrow though. I’ve got to get back.” Ron was a shit liar, especially when it came to Harry. He’d never truly been able to hide anything from him - not that he ever needed to before this - but he couldn’t bring himself to tell Harry he’d been sleeping with the rival he _thought_ all of his friends hated; should have hated. Ron was sore with himself for not catching on Harry had been into Malfoy the way he was. It shouldn't matter though, as he and Draco never spoke of anything other than a great fuck.

He gave his friend a lopsided grin and a wave, disappearing behind the safety of the green flames. When he returned to his cottage in Kenmare, he plopped on the couch with a loud groan. He was excited before going to Harry’s, planning a night in with his lover and giving his best mate the news of getting to play Quidditch together again, but now he had doubts. Doubts about his relationship, or _lack of relationship_ , with Draco; doubts of his ability to keep whatever it was that he and Draco actually had and to continue unscathed, and doubts in terms of holding back a lash out against him or Harry in result of it all. It wasn’t Harry’s fault, he knew that, nor was it Draco’s. But he couldn’t suppress the ill feeling in his stomach that with this opportunity, Draco wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation that was Harry Potter. Just like everyone else.

It’s how it always was. Ron and Harry - two thirds of their heroic _trio_ \- the two men in which only one was overly recognized. He once again found himself feeling insecure. Harry was great, he knew that years ago, not because of his proclaimed fame, but because he remained humble through it all. Ron cursed himself again for thinking like that. He hoped his betraying thoughts were merely a byproduct of overthinking things - it had happened before - but he couldn’t forget his conversation with Malfoy nor the smirk on his face at the prospect of Harry joining the team. And he couldn’t unsee the gleam in Harry’s eyes when he lost himself in his remanence.

•♛❣♞•

Draco found himself standing outside a small cottage, hands in his pockets as he shook off the cold chill of the night air. He waited impatiently, rolling his eyes at his decision to walk instead of apparate or floo to Ron’s residence. He was doing that alot - _questioning_. Nothing too in depth in his mind, but questioning just the same. He often wondered why he and Ron continued their little dance behind closed doors. They weren’t exactly discreet, but no one paid Draco any mind in a way he was now used to and Ron, well, Ron was probably used to being looked over by now, especially when it came to the papers. He had what he wanted - Quidditch. Draco on the other hand, missed the unsubtle praises of the media - the attention and feeling of superiority. He looked good in the spotlight, always quick to toss a witty joke or flattering flirt to his followers; he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss it.

The door swung open, sending a wave of heat to flow from inside the cottage. Ron was standing in the doorway, flannel pants hung loosely around his toned waist, and a chicken leg in his hand, his mouth full of meat as he smiled a chipmunk grin at Draco. Draco scoffed, gesturing permission to enter as Ron gave the expression of _oh, right_! and shifted to the side to allow his lover to enter the cottage. Closing the door with a shake of his head, Ron turned back to Draco, who was taking off his wool coat.

“Did you not hear me knocking? I was out there for _five_ minutes!” Draco snarled, rolling his eyes, waiting for Ron to finish chewing his chicken.

“I was in the kitchen. And you’re _exaggerating_. You were out there for a solid _two_ minutes. Tops.” He discarded the chicken bone into the trash and clapped the dry rub from his hands before plopping down on his overstuffed couch. Patting the seat next to him, Ron wiggled his eyebrows.

“I hope you intend to wash your hands,” Draco scoffed sitting down next to Ron, who shifted to allow Draco to half lean against his bare side.

“You can be so dramatic,” Ron winked in a tease. “But fine, alright. I’ll make sure to _wash my hands_ you pompous prat.”

“Still resorting to name calling after all these years, Weasel. I thought such plebeian behaviours were beneath you.” Draco tossed his shirt over his head casually, not embarrassed at the feel of Ron’s eyes raking over his flexing back and shoulders. “Go clean up. I’ll be in the room,” he said standing up, unbuttoning his pants on his way down the short hall to the only bedroom in the cottage.

“Oh, you’ll be beneath me alright.” Ron practically stumbled over the back of the couch. Draco could hear the splashing of the facete in the kitchen, then a muffled _scourgify_ before Ron strode into the room, practically skipping as his eyes twinkled the brightest of blues.

“What are you doing?” Draco asked now stripped to his boxers as he positioned himself on the bed, his head resting against the headboard as he watched Ron lower his pants as he walked. To Draco's amusement, Ron wasn't wearing anything underneath, already showing his growing excitement. With each step he took, Ron jerked his hips, his half erect cock hitting each of his thighs, alternating between them with a _smack!_ as he paraded to the side of the bed. Draco pushed his lips in a tight line, his brows raised.

“You are such a _child_ , Ron!” He said sitting up onto his knees, gripping Ron gently around the base of his cock. He began stroking lightly, taking his free hand and gripping behind Ron’s neck as he pulled him into a fiery kiss. Ron didn’t hold back, returning the fervor in his lips as he took both of his hands and slid them under Draco’s boxers, clapping one on each of Draco’s arse cheeks, spreading them slightly as he squeezed them in his grasp. Draco practically growled into his mouth as Ron lifted him off his knees and slammed him on his back on the bed, breaking their lips apart before lowering himself over Draco again.

Draco’s hand-play stumbled when he landed, and Ron’s new position above him trapped him from being able to continue. Ron smirked against Draco’s mouth, and moved his lips to his cheek, then his ear, nibbling the folds with his teeth and flicking his tongue over his flesh. A shudder ran through Draco, feeling Ron’s clammy skin pressed against his own, the vibrations of his mouth on his ear, and the sensations from Ron’s hands squeezing his arse.

Draco felt Ron’s hands move, his fingers gripping and tugging the fabric down and shifting back to a standing position briefly to tug them off altogether. Ron clambered onto the bed clumsily as he lowered himself over Draco’s erection. With his grip firmly clung to Draco’s thighs, he lowered his mouth and flicked his tongue over the head of Draco’s cock, his hot breath leaving Draco eager for more of his ginger’s mouth on his flesh.

Ron moved still, starting at the base, he licked the full length of Draco before enclosing his lips lightly around him completely and lowering his mouth down again. Draco growled, throwing his head back and jerking his hips slightly. Ron chuckled, sending vibrations Draco didn’t know he needed. Ron’s grip tightened, locking Draco down so he couldn’t move. The dominance of Ron’s actions thrilled him, though he’d _never_ admit it aloud. Ron continued to suck and lick Draco’s hardness, the blond’s breathing grew more staggered, and he was almost ready to release into Ron’s mouth, when he stopped.

“You _fucking_ tease,” Draco hissed through clenched teeth. Ron sat up, wiping his lower lip with his forearm before climbing over Draco to reach into his bedside drawer. “What are you doing now?”

Ron retrieved the lube from the drawer, and sat up eagerly, squeezing the tube and allowing the jelly-like liquid to topple over the side onto his hand. Draco laughed at the expression on his face.

“What? You’re so bloody _impatient_ at times, you know that? _I’m_ just getting started.” Ron wiggled his eyebrows, and motioned with his free hand for Draco to turn over, pointing and circling his index finger. With a quirked brow, Draco feigned frustration to submitting to Ron’s demands before turning over on his knees.

Ron’s touch was on his hip again, his breath hovered over his lowered arched back as he kissed Draco’s dimple. It wasn’t long before Ron’s now lubed up finger teased Draco’s entrance, barely brushing the inside before slowly adding a second finger. Draco began stroking his cock, moving in sync with Ron’s fingerplay on his arse currently making his stomach knot. He was growing anxious, and craved the feel of Ron’s cock inside him more than he felt he should. He was ready, he knew he was, and Draco was one second away from telling Ron as much when he felt his fingers slide out of him. Draco hissed in both anticipation and need—he needed Ron, more so today than normal. The day’s events on his mind, with the teasing touches from their shower had him hating to admit it, but he _needed_ to be close to Ron. He needed Ron to fuck him; he needed to be fucked into the mattress and be gripped and parted—sated and owned.

“I think you’re enjoying this,” Draco whined, craning his head over his shoulder back at Ron. The smile that stretched across Ron’s lips made Draco swallow hard. They had always been haphazard with their hookups, never thinking twice about what would ever come from their little get togethers, not openly at least.

Draco, for one, never told Ron how much that lopsided smile managed to make his head spin. Or how much he actually _enjoyed_ the cheesiness behind the coffee in his locker after every practice. But even _he_ never dwelled on what it all meant, aside from the physical attractions and sexual tension they used to their advantage in the bedroom. No, Draco knew he enjoyed this all too much to fathom ever telling Ron. He would never jeopardize whatever this was.

Ron shifted again, pulling Draco by the waist to press his back against his chest, sitting up on their knees. He began kissing Draco’s neck from behind, causing Draco to hitch his breathing - half lost in his thoughts and the constant feel of Ron’s breath on his skin. With every kiss, every touch of his lips, Ron’s hands worked their way to Draco’s hard and ready cock, his mouth never retreating from its siege on his neck.

“Don’t lie,” Ron breathed into his ear, “you’re enjoying this too.”

 _Gods_ was he. Ron was everything _man_ between the sheets, and he took full advantage of that now, with Ron’s cock pressing firmly against him. Draco swallowed, Ron’s movements in his hands providing the perfect combination of speed and grip, and he began rocking in sync in the ginger’s arms.

“ _Fucking_ faster, Weasley,” Draco managed through a staggered breath.

“ _Fuck_ you, Malfoy,” Ron replied, jerking Draco around again to capture his lips. Their kiss was a collision of unwieldy grace, an ardor of both emotion and clumsiness. Ron grasped both sides of Draco’s face and broke their lips apart briefly as he pressed his forehead firmly to Draco’s. Both were panting, both brows sticky with light perspiration, as if that single kiss drained everything else in the room from the world. Draco’s eyes had been closed, but the feel of Ron’s touch on his face gave him strength to chance a glance. His gray, diamond eyes clashed widely with the sparkling blue of sapphire.

“I want you so _fucking_ bad,” Ron breathed, puffs of air brushing Draco’s face. Draco smirked, sliding his arms up Ron’s chest and curling his palms around the back of his neck, tugging him down as Draco laid on his back, positioning himself so Ron could have what they’ve _both_ been craving since this thrash began.

Licking his lips, Ron threw Draco’s legs up and hooked them over his forearms, his freshly lubed finger now teasing Draco’s arse again, readying him for the entry of his cock. He leant down, capturing Draco’s lips as he stroked his own hardness with a fresh supply of lube, his fingers never faltering. Draco could see the sweat beading on Ron’s forehead as the ginger extracted his fingers again, only to slide his cock in instead.

Partially into the first roll of his hips, Ron gripped and held Draco down by his chest, prohibiting him from resisting Ron’s movements. Draco, limited in his dominated position from Ron, took his cock into his hand and moved to the constant thrusts of Ron’s hips. He peered up, watching Ron’s fixated gaze on his length. It was a turn on - seeing Ron watch him the way he was. He was hungry, _possessive_ even, in the way he kept Draco on his back. The tension was stronger than it had ever been between them, building up since they left one another in the showers earlier that night. It was no surprise Ron could fuck Draco senseless, they’ve done it countless times before, but tonight - tonight was different in the way Ron took him. The fiery look in his eye rivaled his hair - inflamed and burning - already made Draco’s groin twitch, but his covetous thrusts inside him drew him all the closer to coming.

But it was Ron who went first. Draco watched through stilted eyes - Ron’s head jerking backwards, his grip held firmly on Draco’s thighs as he growled a growl Draco had never heard from his lover’s throat before. There were a series of staggered jerks, Ron shaking after his release, before lowering himself down over Draco’s vigorous stroking. Ron brought his mouth over the head of Draco’s cock, sliding and swallowing Draco down the full length of his base.

Draco’s lips quivered, watching Ron as he moved up and down his shaft, the suction of his mouth bringing Draco even closer to his already close release. He came hard into Ron’s eager mouth, unable to hold back the lust and thrill of the feel of his hot, wet mouth. He watched as Ron swallowed everything Draco gave him, teasing him with a lingering lick that caused Draco to jerk and twitch beneath him. Ron kissed each of Draco’s thighs, lingering briefly with his forehead resting on Draco's thigh before sitting up in a satisfied grin.

“Fuck sake, Weasley,” said Draco between light jolts, shifting himself to rest his head against the headboard. Ron followed suit, plopping down hard on a pillow beside him and tossing his arms up slightly in a lazy half shrug.

“What?”

“Fuck you mean, _what_?” Draco shifted to look Ron in the eyes. “What’s gotten into you tonight?”

“Nothing,” Ron shrugged again, this time standing up with a face of failed indifference, and clumsily walked over to pull his pajama pants up, slapping the strap at the waist. “I’m just bloody starving. And you were taking forever.” Ron disappeared down the hall.

“Oh, _no_!” Draco scoffed, jerking up off the bed and scooping up his boxers. His legs were wobbling, and he darted after Ron, tripping over his feet as he struggled to keep his pace while pulling his boxers up. “No, no! _You_ don’t get to do that.”

Ron was chugging a large carton of milk, holding onto the cooling cabinet door when Draco stormed in.

“Do _what_?” Ron’s brows rose, his already strained expression of disconnection faltering all the more as he bent to put the carton back on the shelf, hiding his face behind the door.

“Be the _evasive_ arsehole.” Draco actually heard himself huff, his arms crossing over his chest as he watched Ron reemerge from behind the cabinet door. Ron’s face was contorted, an obvious indication he was thinking too hard.

“That’s your bit,” Ron said leaning against the wall, crossing his ankles. He feigned a yawn, and Draco snarled.

“Alright, Weasley. I’m just going to head out, then.”

Draco hesitated, catching Ron shift out the corner of his eye, as if to stop him. When he peered back at the ginger to allow him to say whatever it was Draco knew he wanted to say - and hoped he would - Ron froze. He swallowed instead, his adam’s apple bobbing as he choked back his words. Draco frowned, shaking his head as he exited the kitchen, scooping up his clothes as he stormed over to the fireplace. He found himself hesitating again, urging Ron to say _something_ but, he remained silent, now watching him from the doorframe with a furrowed brow.

Draco wasn’t entirely sure why he made such a fuss, he and Ron never talked about things on a more intimate level, but the look in Ron’s eyes - despite how much it put him in the mood - disturbed him now that his mind was somewhat unfogged from their lust.

“See you at practice, _Weasley_ ,” Draco said, balancing his clothes and shoes with one hand as he threw the powder with his other and disappeared behind green flames.

 


	3. Chapter 3

•♛❣♞•

The next morning practice came with a quickness. Ron kept a subtle smile, excited to have Harry at his side, despite his own jealousy tugging in the back of his mind. Coach O’Donnic rambled on about Harry’s credentials and how the team could _learn alot from the young war hero_. Ron remembered a similar speech when he joined the team a year prior - the enthusiasm in his coach’s tone wasn’t quite as enthusiastic then. Ron swallowed the displeasure of his memory, taking is accustomed position in front of the rings as Draco took his. Harry was still on the ground, talking with O’Donnic and a pouty-faced McKinnic before taking to the air.

Ron watched the exchange between Draco and Harry from his position, scoffing internally - and visibly - at the smirks the two kept ogling at one another. The looks continued once the scrimmage began, Ron watching from the rings at the constant failed subtly of the transactions. He didn’t miss the way Harry dove close to where Draco was, who was carrying the quaffle down to the opposite side of the pitch. It was almost funny really, seeing his friend try so hard to impress the one person he used to go out of his way to _un_ -impress.

He was surprised in the way Harry lacked in his usual focus while in the game. He’d always been such a strong player, which Ron assumed he used that fact, along with his established reputation, to his advantage now. Ron wondered what his friend’s commitment to the team actually would be after seeing his actions today. He shook his head vigorously, pinching the ball of his nose in frustration to his thoughts betraying his friend in such a way. Harry was his _best friend_ \- he could never allow Draco to interfere with that. But jealousy was a fickle thing.

“Weasley! Get your _head_ out of your _arse_! What are you doing up there? Cloud gazing!?” The voice of Ron’s coach shook him from his internal battle. He was thankful for that, despite being called out in front of the entire team. Halloway had zipped right past him and scored, much to his own horror considering how terrible the rookie still was.

He jerked his hand in a quick wave, slanted grin in place, and slapped the top of his headgear in a reassessed focus in the game. Karma was toying with him, he knew, making him curse himself for thinking such a way about Harry when he wasn’t focused himself. He caught sight of Draco’s gray eyes - eyes that could rival the overcasted sky - and he flicked his focus to avoid his questioning gaze further. That was the last thing he needed right now.

“Let’s go through that play again.” O’Donnic called from the ground, his voice echoing from his wand at his throat. He didn’t need the bloody charm in Ron’s opinion, the old Irish wizard was loud enough on his own. “Weasley! I’m going to need you to at least _try_ to make them work for it this time!”

Ron groaned, thankful for the distance between him and the ground so his coach didn’t see the annoyance on his face. He would have had to fly laps for sure.

The team ran through the same play at least a dozen times before they were able to break. Coach O’Donnic had everyone in a huddle, going over the plays and the _do’s ‘n don’ts of workin’ as a fucking team_. Ron knew most of the speech he spat was directed at him, and he found his posture slouching. He was standing just outside the circle, away from the rest of his teammates, nodding when needed as O’Donnic made corrections accordingly in the way they played. His eyes then set on his best friend, whose face was practically glowing.

“Harry, my boy! Still some training to go to get you up to your true potential, but I’d love to have you as my starting Seeker!” Harry beamed, flashing Ron a thankful grin that made the ginger almost blush. “I think if you had someone to really help that push, you’d be faster than the damn Snitch itself.” His eyes scanned the full length of the team. “ _Malfoy_!” Ron watched as Draco jumped at the sudden use of his name, his attention being gods only knows where. Ron blew the hair from his face. “You were a Seeker in school, yes?”

“Uh, I was bu-”

“Good. Get up there and give _Potter_ a run for his money.” Ron audibly scoffed, catching some attention from two teammates standing in front of him. He cursed karma’s name again under his breath. Draco and Harry exchanged a playful smirk.

“Gladly. We’ve got some _unfinished_ business to take care of anyway,” Draco said in the same tone Ron found so alluring all those months ago.

“You really think you could keep up with me?” Ron didn’t miss the hidden meaning between Harry’s words, and by the reaction on Draco’s face, Ron didn’t think he did either.

He watched in horror as the two mounted their brooms, standing opposite one another in the center of the team’s huddled position. O’Donnic pulled the Snitch from a side case on the ground and held up his arm, slowly opening his palm. The Snitch expanded its golden wings before them, and disappeared into the sky. Draco and Harry exchanged one last look before bolting up after it.

As the team watched on from the ground, Ron made his leave. He shouldn’t have been so affected by this, shouldn’t have been so annoyed with the two of them playing a friendly game of cat and mouse with the Snitch, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d had enough and it was only day one. He exited the pitch without a second thought, _or care_.

•♛❣♞•

Draco landed, his feet stomping on the ground in defeat as Harry descended gracefully with the Snitch in his hand. Most of the team had already been dismissed to the showers, save for Mckinnic, who was clinging to the bench with white knuckles muttering nonsense to himself. O’Donnic was applauding and stalking over to them.

“I’m surprised you didn’t catch the _damn_ thing with your mouth, _Potter_ ,” Draco teased, inclining his head towards the Snitch. Harry grinned, flashing an attractive smile over white teeth. Draco cleared his throat, looking away when O’Donnic walked up, out of breath.

“Now _that_ was flying!” He craned his head over his shoulder. “You catch all that, McKinnic?” He turned back to Draco and Harry, mumbling something about _a useless good for nothing buffoon_. “Harry, you promise to fly like that in next week’s game against the Magpies, and we’ll run those Montrose bastards into the ground!” Draco could actually see the vein popping from their coach’s neck, his hands balled up in tight fists with a crazed look in his eye.

“Uh, yeah, sure thing, _Coach_!” Draco almost laughed at the way Harry phrased his sentence, as if the whole idea of him having a coach was so unnatural.

When they watched the old man walk off, a skip erupting every so often between steps, Harry turned to Draco with an eager expression.

“So! What’s there to do around here?” Harry was grinning, following alongside Draco in step off the pitch.

“Do? _Here_? We just did it.”

They were sharing a laugh by the time they arrived to the locker room, which appeared to have been vacated completely. Draco split off from Harry and threw is gear down on his usual spot at the bench. When he clicked his locker open, the smile he was wearing fled his lips. He shifted his shoes and clothes around, searching for the only item he was hoping would be there - but there was no coffee to be found. He frowned, resting his forehead on the cool, metal door of his locker before sighing and turning to the bench again.

When he jerked back around, his remaining gear hanging loosely from his robes, Harry was there with his bag, already changed and ready to go. Draco must have pouted longer than he realized. He chose to skip his accustomed after practice shower, pulling off his remaining gear and shucking his robes. He could feel Harry’s eyes on him, and wasn’t exactly turned off by the idea of the dark haired boy doing so. His mind slowly forgot about the missing coffee - _almost_.

“Since there’s nothing going on _here_ , why not come back to my place in London?”

“Taking me home on the first day, Potter? What would the people say.” Draco tossed his shirt over his head, shaking it down as the fabric concealed his skin, Harry’s eyes never left Draco’s form.

“Let them talk.”

The comment both shocked and aroused Draco - the unexpectancy of it seemed almost _too_ satisfying. He flexed his jaw, closing his locker behind him with a flick of his wand he tugged from his nearby bag. Draco glided his tongue teasingly slow between his lips, being sure to run his teeth over the bottom half of his mouth in an almost achingly flirtatious manner. He watched as Harry swallowed hard, shifting his weight where he stood. Draco was enjoying this, and figured he’d let his once rival sweat before agreeing to go anywhere with him.

“Shall we, then?”

The moment the words left his mouth, a loud _bang_ clashed against a locker from another row. Draco and Harry both jumped at the abrupt sound, but Harry’s wand was at the ready from what Draco assumed to be instinct.

“What the f-”

“ _Language_ , Potter. It was probably nothing.” He wasn’t lying, certain a teammate or two lingered somewhere in the locker room or the contents in the locker of one of their Beaters exploded again. Draco had a brief flashback of that Gryffindor boy in potions.

“It didn’t _sound_ like nothing.” Harry advanced two steps towards the noise while Draco eyed him with his back against his locker.

“You are not an Auror _desk jockey_ anymore, you can drop the wand.” Draco pushed himself off the wall of lockers, placing his hand on Harry’s forearm to regain his attention. Harry shifted, leaning back and craning his head to peer back at Draco. They both immediately realized how close in proximity their movements brought them to one another, their faces a mere inches apart - Draco could almost feel the sporadic puffs of Harry’s breathing. Clearing his throat, he loosened his hold on Harry’s arm, shifting his gaze to anywhere but on Harry himself. In the corner of his eye, he could have sworn he saw a red hue of hair, but when he inclined his head towards the exit, noone was there.

“Let’s get out of here.”

They walked out onto the sidewalk, the streetlights illuminating the dusty cobblestone streets every few feet, and emphasizing the low sitting fog in the air. Harry pulled out an unassuming pocket watch and held it up expectantly. Draco stood unamused, quirking a brow as he waited.

“It’s a Portkey. You know, back to London.”

“Yes, Potter, I see it’s a Portkey. Are you going to get us out of here or stare at the bloody watch all night?”

Harry laughed, taking Draco’s hand into his and pulling him closer than was needed, but Draco didn’t pull away. He entwined their fingers as Draco placed his free hand over the watch, together feeling the world pull and tug around them. Draco hated traveling by portkey, feeling it to be a less than dignified means of travel, but he wasn’t particularly in a position to argue that fact now as they were twisted and wrenched in all directions.

And then, they were falling, their hands still holding the other’s, Draco finding his footing and began to slow in his descent. Harry, however, failed in regaining his posture and dragged Draco down with him. The two of them hit the ground hard - Harry on his side and Draco landing shortly after on top of him. Draco was furious, hopping onto his feet and dusting off his clothes with a laughing Harry in hysterics behind him.

“You think this is funny, do you?”

Harry rolled to his back and peered up at Draco in amusement on the ground. His hands were resting on his chest; a chest that was rising and falling quickly from the adrenaline of their fall.

“ _Quite_ funny actually,” Harry said finally between remnants of chortles. He jerked up and climbed to his feet, brushing the dirt from his left shoulder. “Forgot to mention I’m a horrid Portkey companion.”

“The good it does me to know that _now_ ,” Draco scoffed, taking in their surroundings for the first time since they’d landed. “This isn’t a house, Potter. Where are we?”

“Only about three blocks away. I hope you don’t mind, but I like to walk.” Harry’s expression was apologetic, but hopeful.

Draco didn’t mind. In fact, he was glad to have left Ireland behind - if only for a time - the lush greens and dull skies of the village were becoming too much for him to bear. He missed this city: the lights, the restaurants and shops; the overall feeling of walking down paved streets. He even missed the people, though not particularly _too_ much.

“Not at all, Potter. A walk sounds,” Draco scrunched the side of his face in thought. “ _Intriguing_. Shall me?” He motioned with a slanted posture and his arm extended, following Harry out of the alley.

They walked slowly, catching up on nothing and everything they’d missed in their lives since Hogwarts. Draco left out the details involving him and Ron, and dodged whenever Harry would talk about him. It’s not that he was embarrassed of the two of them by any means. In fact, Ron had been the best thing between the sheets since Pansy, but he found he couldn’t voice the words of his mind regarding the ginger.

He couldn’t quite understand the reasoning - it was just mindless shagging after all - but with Harry, he’d be lying if old feelings didn’t bubble back towards the surface of his chest, despite the lingering pang that followed when Ron’s face would flash through his head. Draco paused in his steps, pinching his nose as a headache began to rise.

“You alright?” He felt Harry’s touch on his arm, and he opened his eyes to see the most captivating of greens boring into him, concern spread across the dark haired man’s face.

“Of course, Potter,” he was smiling, pushing down whatever it was that was conflicting him, and tried not to be offended by the simple question. “Just in need of a drink.”

“Well, lucky for you, _I_ can _fulfill_ that request.”

They were walking side by side when it happened. First a muffled noise around the next corner, then flashing lights and bellowing echoes off the buildings that lined the streets - paparazzi. The Daily Prophet was in their faces, asking questions regarding the rumours of Harry joining the Kestrels, then shifted to the company he was currently keeping. Draco all but froze. He’d forgotten how glorious being in the spotlight was. Sure he’d had interviews after the war and when he became a starting Chaser, but it was nothing of this magnitude.

He stood back, admiring the grace of Harry’s responses and body language, smiling at his old school rival with a sense of pride. When Harry reached out and took his hand, however, Draco blinked in submission, giving in to both his charming smile and the attention from the reporters.

Harry leaned close to his ear, a mesmerized Draco fluttered his eyes only briefly at the feel of his breath on his skin. “Let’s give them something to _really_ talk about.”

Draco wasn’t entirely sure what Harry meant by that comment, not until he entwined his fingers into Draco’s and kissed the knuckles on his hand, slowly and precise. More questions exploded from the reporters, quills and floating parchments jotting down any and all details - and then some - without so much as a second of hesitation.

Though he didn't think much of it then, lost in the welcoming attention, he knew this would come back to bite him in the arse. First with Pansy, knowing she'd never let him live this down. He could hear her now - _Is Potter's glorified glory hole really as glorious as they say?_ She really was crass.

But his silent chuckle brought on by the thought of his best friend’s plausible reaction quickly fled his mind, thinking of a certain ginger man in which he briefly wished was the one currently kissing his skin. He shoved that down, however, knocked from the thought altogether when Harry spoke.

“Thank you all! We’ll be retiring for the evening. No more questions, please.” Draco stood stunned, allowing a confident Harry to lead him up the steps of Grimmauld Place and gently guiding him inside. The door clicked closed behind them.

“Sorry about that. I wasn’t expecting a crowd on my doorstep,” Harry led Draco to the den, and motioned for him to sit while he poured them each a glass of firewhiskey. “Especially since this isn’t exactly a quiet street.”

“They’re getting bolder,” Draco said accepting the glass Harry offered. It was true - muggles surrounded this area and the risks just to get a top story was apparently more prominent on their minds than the secrecy of the Wizarding World itself.

“They are, but it’s not all bad.” Harry sat down beside him on the couch, and pulled his one leg up over the cushion as he faced the blond. Draco wasn’t entirely sure what he was bloody doing there in Harry’s home, but was unable to turn away. “You know, when Ron told me I would be joining the team, it was you I thought of first.”

“Who’s being bold _now_?” Draco asked cheekily. He set the glass down, unable to find the enjoyment of a clogged mind, though it should have been welcoming - it wasn’t in the slightest.

“Is it working?” Harry laughed, a faint blush on his cheeks.

“Maybe. Keep going and we can find out.” Draco had no control over his mouth anymore, he was convinced. There was something about the unfinished business between him and Harry all those years ago that made thinking of anything else in this moment damn near impossible.

Harry scooted closer to Draco, placing a hand on his thigh. “If it’s bold you want, then why not stay tonight?”

If Draco had been drinking, he would have choked on the contents.

“The Gryffindor never left you it seems,” Draco teased, shifting to face Harry completely. “Audacious lions never know when to quit do they?”

“Do you want me to?” Harry leaned closer. “Quit, that is?”

 _No. Yes_. Draco wasn’t sure what he wanted anymore. Harry was right here, actually _throwing_ himself at Draco and he was hard pressed to ignore that. He matched Harry’s movements, meeting his gaze with a smirk, but then he hesitated. He was getting frustrated with himself - advance, don’t advance - his body couldn’t seem to make up its mind. But when Harry moved closer still, he quickly realized he didn’t have to.

Harry’s lips brushed over Draco’s. The innocence of the act lasted mere seconds, however, Harry reaching a hand into Draco’s hair to pull him closer. The many years of pinned emotions released into a single kiss, both pressing against the other’s mouth with heated lips. Draco closed his eyes, Harry’s soft lips contrasting vividly with the chapped lips of Ron’s he had grown accustomed to.

Harry pushed Draco back, his hand on his waist, and lowered him onto the couch. Their lips released from the movement only to collide again, Draco allowing Harry’s tongue to enter his mouth. The heat rose so quickly between them, both pushing back with fervor and dominance - until Draco pulled away. Harry placed his forehead on Draco’s, their noses pressed side by side, both men panting wildly.

“Something the matter?” Harry asked between breaths.

“I don’t-” Draco shifted away, sitting up as Harry sat back. “I don’t know.” Draco didn’t miss the pity look in Harry’s eyes, as if Draco was _incapable_ of something. “Don’t you dare even insinuate _that_!”

Harry laughed, shifting his eyes between Draco’s and his lower half.

“My eyes are still up here, Potter. I can assure you, it has nothing to do with my performance.”

“I didn’t say anything of the sort, Draco. You’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic.” He heard himself say. Ron always called him dramatic but he never fully believed he was until now. “I'm sorry, Potter, but I've got to go. This has been-”

“Nice. We should do it again sometime,” Harry finished for him.

A part of him wanted to say no, to end this before it could fully start. The gods only knew he shouldn't have another secret of this magnitude weighing on him. But he nodded instead.

"Ugh, yes, whatever."

 


	4. Chapter 4

•♛❣♞•

The morning couldn’t come fast enough, the clouds an unbroken sheet of gray as Draco used his floo to meet Pansy for brunch. He was glad for the break from Quidditch, especially with how his last few days had been. His free time was consumed with a pestering Potter, who insisted he only wanted to _acquaint_ themselves better. Though, he didn’t think twice about saying no. What he _did_ seem to ponder over quite a bit lately, was the fact that Ron became _less_ pestering. Knowing how he was with Quidditch, Draco assumed he kept to himself for a reason, ensuring he held a clear mind for the sake of their game coming up. Draco wouldn’t deny, not even to himself, however, that he missed the way Ron kept his arrogant arse grounded. Their last night together in Ron’s cottage ended off and unfinished.

He stepped out of the diminishing flames, each stride taken with purpose as he was met with bright eyes and a familiar smirk. Pansy stood with a posh hand on her hip, her hair cascading in long black streams just past her shoulders. She looked softer, even with her signature arched brows and sassy smile.

“I need a drink,” Draco said when he closed the space between them. His long arms tightened around her waist and her small frame molded into his briefly before she puffed a laugh into the crook of his neck.

“It’s hardly ten. Surprised you just didn’t bring a bottle with you-” She paused, watching as Draco’s lips widened and he pulled a pint of whiskey from his coat pocket. “I stand corrected.” Pansy snapped her fingers and a small, plump elf appeared with a _pop_! “Two glasses please, Tess.”

The elf nodded, and two glasses appeared on the side table behind them. Pansy flicked her hair with a casual hand and sat expectantly, legs crossing at the knees. Draco popped the cork and poured them each a glass before taking his own seat across from her.

“So, how’s Ireland treating you these days?” Pansy began, taking a large swig from her crystal glass. “You _reek_ of trees by the way. The fresh air is doing nothing for your complexion.”

Draco laughed into his own glass, downing the remnants of its contents before discarding it on the table. He slid his thumb across his bottom lip. “Just as charming as ever, my dear. And Ireland is-” he paused, Ron’s face appearing in his mind, “ _fine_.”

“Find yourself a plaything yet?” Pansy’s tone was casual, smirking back at her blond friend.

“What do you mean by _that_?” Draco straightened and shifted in his seat - the capricious movements did _not_ go unnoticed by Pansy.

“You’ve always been one to crack under pressure, Draco. So, who is he?” She casually flipped her hair back, leaning forward with great interest. The witch knew him all too well.

Ghosting a smirk of his own, Draco leant back in his chair, crossing his leg over his knee. “Which one, dearest?”

Pansy nearly squealed. Draco was impressed with her complacent expression - only her eyes were wild. “Do tell my love. I want _all_ the details.”

“Better pour another round first,” Draco said picking up the whiskey and refilling their glasses. He paused, waiting for Pansy’s impatience to sink in. Finally, after being satisfied with her audible huffs for him to _go on_ , he took a sip of his glass. “One is a teammate. The other, well,” Draco took another casual sip, watching as Pansy snarled her painted lips. “The other and I have been getting reacquainted and-” Draco paused. “Is kind of his _friend_.”

Pansy slouched, her face displaying an expression of pure boredom. “So, you’re shagging the Weasel while talking up the Potter _nerd_. How predictable of you.”

Draco nearly dropped his glass. _How did she-_ It was all he could do to tame his face - pure shock was hard to conceal after all. He scoffed audibly. “How could you have possibly figured that out so fast? And I am _not_ predictable.”

Pansy laughed - a laugh closer to a cackle which she knew Draco despised - and rose from her chair. She smoothed out her dress, her hands still moving down her thighs when she flipped her head back to meet Draco’s gaze. “Honestly, Draco, you don’t give me near enough credit. You always _were_ jealous of Potter. Had to go and have his _Weasel_ too.”

“As much as I enjoy watching you toy with other men, I’d rather you _not_ direct your poison at me.” Draco poured himself another drink.

“Charmer,” she replied, gesturing to her glass. “but Weasley can be a bit,” she paused, bobbing her head slightly from side to side as she searched for the right word, “ _territorial_ over his playthings.”

“You talk as though you know from experience.” Draco snarled, brushing her comment off as he managed a smirk of his own. “Jealous?”

“Oh, Draco, you sweet delusional man. Ron always was a ‘backdoor’ kind of lover,” She paused in faux thought. “It’s a good thing you brought the whiskey.”

Draco all but rolled his eyes. “And why is that exactly?”

With a perfectly arched brow, Pansy’s lips curled all the more wickedly. “Because, dearest, I taught him _everything_ he knows.”

Draco stood, a combination of nausea and jealousy taking over. He blamed the whiskey, almost forgetting their sixth year at Hogwarts, for obvious reasons. He couldn’t contain the recoil in his movements as his mind raked over the memory of finding his best friend and his current lover in a compromising position. He wasn’t there for her much back then, the two of them handed the trials their families shoved down their throats, both dealing with it in their own ways - Draco in seclusion and Pansy, well, Pansy in the arms of a passionate and willing ginger.

“You vicious bitch,” he managed to say, pulling his eyes from her as he slammed his glass down. She was laughing behind him.

“Oh, don’t sound so tragic. I think it’s rather _cute_ you’re taking care of my leftovers.” Pansy fluttered her thick black lashes, her smirk a tauntingly beautiful display across her face. “He _is_ rather good, I almost miss it,” she took a step closer to him, “Almost. He has these particularly _adorable_ freckles on his-”

“ _Enough_ , Parkinson!” Draco snapped, interrupting her banter with irritation in his eyes. He surprised himself with his reaction, but Pansy stood unscathed.

“Oh my gods,” she began calmly, her face softening slightly. “You’ve got it bad for the Weasel!” She tried to contain it, tried to hold back the laughter, but it burst from her lips faster than a hexed Bludger to the head. Draco stood unamused and shook his head in slight disagreement.

 

“You’ve got it wrong,” Draco found himself stumbling over his thoughts. “We are just-”

“Save it, love. I know that look in your eyes.” She placed a manicured finger to her cheek. “Sad it’s not my name that pulls it out of you anymore. I don’t know whether to be insulted or amused I was replaced with a good-doing _ginger_.”

“Call for your elf. We’re going to need more whiskey.”

•♛❣♞•

The low lighting in Ron’s cottage flickered, the shadows under the candles dancing about the walls as his thoughts lingered in the dark corners of the room, unable to be swayed to lighter topics. He was currently sat in a simple chair, rubbing his index finger over his temple to tame the war in his head, trying his damnedest to concentrate on the game of Wizard’s Chess in front of him - the game he was playing by himself - and currently _losing_.

Ron slammed his fist on the table in frustration, the already worn and chipped marble chess pieces toppled over the side and onto the wooden floor. The black king and bishop collided on their descent, laying in pieces next to the white king with a now nicked crown. Two days. It took a solid _two days_ for his somewhat simple yet comfortable life to fall into chaos like the pieces that now lay on the floor.

He couldn’t stop the cruelty of his mind racing to the man he was most certainly _not_ supposed to care for, promising himself - and to him - that what they were weren’t anything at all, but a means of satisfaction between games and practices. A way to unwind and release from the aftermath of war and a way to enjoy another’s company without the trouble of attachments. But now, in the darkness of his cottage, under the constant patter of the rain on his roof - he was alone.

He’d tried to push the sensation down, to swallow the insanity of his mind entwining with his betraying heart and sat with his elbows propped on the table, his hands in his hair. He had tried to prepare himself for this, kept telling himself that nothing between him and the blond would ever result to _this_ \- whatever this was. He knew from the start Draco wasn’t his, the reality of it solidifying the day Harry joined on and became a part of this tumbled weed of emotions - two days ago.

His small fireplace lit up, having been too lost in himself to think of locking it for the night, when the very man who had been in the forefront of his mind emerged from the hearth. Draco stood, staring silently for a time at a quiet Ron, who remained seated at the table, elbows still propped with a blank expression.

“Hey,” Draco said taking in the scene on the floor. “Stalemate?” He stepped over the marble pieces, taking a seat at the table across from Ron, who was peering over at him with furrowed brows.

“I don’t remember inviting you over,” he replied sharply, bolting from the table so abruptly his chair fell backwards, adding to the mess on the floor. He walked over and plopped down on his couch, sprawling out to deny Draco the invitation of joining him.

“I remember you saying I never needed one.” Draco said sternly, his face even in expression.

Ron could feel his eyes on him, but he refused to look back at the blond. His stubbornness was winning the struggle over his mind - snuffing out the side of him that wanted nothing more than to take Draco into his arms and snog him senseless. He knew that wouldn’t do any good, but only prolong the inevitable.

“Well, I was just about to head to bed so-”

“Ron, what the bloody hell has gotten into you?” Draco stood and stalked over to Ron on the couch, peering down at him. “You’ve been acting _off_ the past few days.”

“Two.” Ron mumbled, his arms draped loosely over his chest.

“Beg your pardon?”

“ _Two_ days, Draco,” Ron stood up then, the heat in his chest rising, his eyes locked on shimmering silver and faltered. It was brief, but enough - he knew Draco didn’t miss it.

“Past _couple_ of days then.” Draco slumped his shoulders. “I came here to talk.”

“We _are_ talking.” Ron stiffened as Draco took a step closer. Snarling, Ron recoiled, shifting himself out of Draco’s reach.

“ _Ron_ -”

“Don’t.” Ron cut him off, he shoved a nearby paper hard into Draco’s chest. A stunned Draco lingered his gaze on Ron, his eyes squinting, questioning, then peered down at the front page. The moving image of Harry leaning forward and kissing Draco’s knuckles was replaying again and again under the blond’s grip, big bold black letters that read:

_**The Chosen One has plays on and off the Pitch with fellow Kestrels player - Draco Malfoy - Has our hero caught the Golden Snitch with the Malfoy heir?** _

“This doesn’t _mean_ anything,” Draco said, shifting his gaze back to Ron, his eyes pleading.

“It doesn’t matter, right? Maybe we should bloody just go back to the way things were before.” Ron struggled to say the words, choking back the strain in his voice - _and failing_.

The last thing he wanted to do was go back. He didn’t want to treat Draco like _just another teammate_ \- and go back to before the two of them were nothing but everything to one another. But he had no other options. Draco made his choice, even if he was too cowardly to tell Ron forthright.

“I’m relieved to hear you say that,” Draco said, his mouth ghosting a smile. “I want that too.”  
Ron literally felt the shattered pieces of his heart stabbing his chest from the inside. Draco took another step in his direction but Ron held up his hand, his other had found the back of the couch, supporting his now slouched weight.

“So that’s that then.” Ron pushed off the couch. “No sense for you to bloody stick around.”

Draco straightened, surprise and confusion flooding his face. He stood perfectly still, the lack of movement was trying Ron’s fleeing patience. The last thing he wanted was to have this conversation, or to end things completely, but it was best to get it out of the way.

“Ron, I think you misunderstood me. I meant-”

“I know damn well what you _bloody_ meant, Malfoy!” Ron lunged forward, everything in him crumbling from the inside. He watched as Draco flexed his jaw, silently boring into Ron’s eyes, and Ron into his.

“You’re _highly_ mistaken, _Weasley_ , I can assure you of that.” Draco narrowed his eyes, and Ron snarled at the presumptuous way he didn’t back down.

“Good _night_ , Draco.” Ron fled his space, pacing the length of the couch with his hands tugging his hair.

He watched Draco raise his chin, his lips in a tight thin line. Ron hadn’t noticed his breathing becoming staggered, or that his hands were in fists at his sides.

“You never _fucking_ listen.”

Ron advanced, his heart throbbing in his throat. He didn’t want to hear anymore. He pushed Draco in the chest, Draco’s arms rising in defense as Ron’s anger radiated behind his assault. Draco was shoved towards the Floo, unable to get a word in as Ron’s heated gaze bore into him, his voice rough and hard. Draco hadn’t expected it, looking astonished at the change in his demeanor.

“ _Leave_ , Malfoy. I’m don’t want you here, and I don’t want to bloody talk anymore!”

Ron watched him stand in the hearth, lingering a few mere seconds before he threw his head down. “You're a stubborn _prick_. You know that?”

“Yeah, thanks for that.” Ron snapped back, his mind now slurred and disconnected.With an angry groan, Draco disappeared behind the flames.

Ron stood motionless, staring blankly at the now empty, cold fireplace. The revelation sunk in - _Draco was gone_ \- and he kicked the floor, the chess pieces scattering and rolling unevenly in all directions from the force. He took two steps, his fist meeting the wall in frustration, hitting a hole into the plaster and released the scream he had been holding back. Ron sunk to his knees, sliding his now swollen hands down the length of the wall, resting his head and feeling the coolness of the thin paint. The intensity of his anger melted away the pain, the tears falling from his dull, blue eyes - he was alone once again.

•♛❣♞•

The days that followed were somewhat of a blur for Draco. He was feeling the heat of the big game against the Magpies and the cold chill of Ron’s shoulder, trying to find the balance between the two. Since he _unknowingly_ confessed his feelings to Pansy, the ones he didn’t know he had, things have literally gone to shit.

If he was being honest, he wasn’t entirely mad at Ron’s reaction, just disappointed in the fact the stubborn lion didn’t give him the chance to tell him what he wanted to - that Ron was more than just what they’ve been; the annoying, yet welcomed, tug in his chest that persistently refused to _stop tugging_. Even now, he felt the weight of Ron, and missed the feel of him so close.

Draco had left Ron’s home that night with more questions than when he had arrived. When he decided to show up at Ron’s those days ago, his head full of clarity, he didn’t expect to be shoved off, and certainly didn’t expect Ron to be as angry as he was when he said he wanted to go back to the way things were before. He wasn’t aware of it then, thinking he and Ron were on the same page - thinking the two of them would return to being the _them_ they were before anything got between them. But Draco _couldn’t_ forget the look in Ron’s eyes when he had said the words - _I want that too_. Clearly there was a miscommunication, a disconnect in both men’s meanings in which they were now both paying the price.

His attentions from Harry got the better of him - swallowed whole by the mere affections of the media, his face blasted in black and white in a way he’d missed. But it no longer filled the void. He rushed to Ron’s - hoping to consume the space he so misguidedly tried to fill on his own - but it was too late. If Draco knew anything about Ron, it was that his pride rivaled his own, sticking to his guns and closing himself off before any more damage could be done. Once Ron made up his mind about something, that’s where his mind stayed. Hell, it’s how the two of them came to be, after all.

It was obvious Ron felt the same as Draco did - _does_. Why else would he have reacted in such a way when he thrusted the Prophet into his chest. He couldn’t blame him, not really. Not when his own feelings towards the ginger surpassed what the two had initially agreed upon. Neither were supposed to catch feelings, but it happened. The hot-blooded lion entangled his fiery claws into Draco’s serpent heart. Talking was futile, but the disappointment and rage Draco felt weighing on his chest was almost too much to keep masked away anymore.

He didn’t want to blame Harry, and he knew Ron didn’t either, leaving the only plausible cause to be himself, but Draco couldn’t suppress his anger at the dark haired boy. In truth, it _had_ been Draco who changed things – getting lost in the way Harry’s attentions brought him out of the shadows. But he had realized the _what if_ in that situation. Harry was and will always be his first in the ways of attractions but he thought Ron would be his last – and everything in between.

Draco pretended seeing Harry and Ron leaving practices together didn’t bother him - they _were_ best friends after all. It was only natural for Ron to stick by Harry’s side despite the man being the cause of the fight between them. He wished he could go back to that night, to tell Ron _everything_. To explain to his once lover that nothing actually _happened_ between him and Harry. But wishing was futile now. Draco was shoved into a peculiar situation with Ron, and Harry for that matter, but was unable to actually _do_ anything about it.

O’Donnic was rambling on now, barking his orders in his ridiculously heavy Irish accent and telling them there weren’t room for any mistakes. Draco’s head was full of mistakes. But he nodded along, trying his damnedest to push the feel of dread down further, to ignore that he hasn’t shared Ron’s bed in damn near a week.

Harry approached his side, standing close to his right almost uneasily. They were touching shoulder to shoulder, and he could have swore he heard a scoff behind him, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly from where.

“Good luck tonight, Malfoy.” Harry was so close to him, and Draco smirked in spite of himself, but quickly dropped the curled corners of his mouth again. _Damn you, Potter_.

“Don’t muck this up for _us_ , Potter.” Draco’s tone was sharp, the tinge of fire in his expression that Harry didn’t expect. The dark haired man side stepped back, standing between Draco and Ron with hunched shoulders. Draco knew he probably didn’t even realize his position, but Draco’s gray eyes flicked to meet sapphire, only to find a deep azurite - _rough and dark_ \- and it caused Draco’s prominent frown to deepen.

Words under his breath were spoken involuntarily, slandering the man who currently stood between Draco and Ron. The symbolics of their current standings were enough to almost send Draco over the edge. He breathed deeply through his nose, trying again to tame the impending thoughts of blame on Harry himself.

Before he knew it, they were on the Pitch, the whistle had been called, and they were playing Quidditch with all their strengths. Draco was a competitor, so his natural instincts kicked in, but the pull in his chest remained. He caught sight of Harry every so often, being tailed by the black and white robe of the Magpie Seeker, but he didn’t allow his focus to linger.

The game trudged on, Draco taking his frustrations out on the game and aggressively scoring goals left and right. He could hear his coach from the ground, even high up on his broom, cheering and slandering the opposing team - _Montrose Motherfuckers_ \- if he knew his coach. But then it happened. Harry and the Magpie Seeker, Lennox, toppled into one another, descending to the ground in rapid speeds. Draco groaned, not at all concerned for Harry’s safety, but more so on the fact the game was almost lost.

Without thinking, his tumbling mind remembered a move Marcus Flint taught him years ago, aimed to distract the team to allow his other Chasers to score. He knew it would be breaking many rules, but he didn’t stop long enough to fully comprehend them now. He darted forward, aiming to collide with a Montrose Beater. He came inches from the unsuspecting player, sliding his eyes to slits before he redirected and plunged downward, the bristles of his broom scratching the opponent's hand. He wasn’t entirely sure of the reasoning, they didn’t _need_ the distraction, their team was up fifty points as it was, all it took was for Harry to catch the Snitch, and the game would be won. Harry had done it countless of times in school, so he shouldn’t have doubted him, but the festering blame Draco placed on the man had begun to overthrow his concentration.

Draco was midway down the pitch when he was nearly thrown from his broom, the sudden seized movement of the wood between his legs jolting him forward. He couldn’t move on his own, feeling the pull as he was slowly forced to descend the Pitch and was lowered on the grass by the referee’s wand. A whistle was blowing, and he could hear O’Donnic arguing with said referee, claiming Draco would never purposely foul out. He’d been caught, clearly not as effective with breaking the rules as Flint once was, then again, this was _professional_ Quidditch.

“You bloody idiot! What the fuck were ya thinkin’ blatchin’ their Beater?” O’Donnic smacked Draco in the back of the head when he became in arm’s reach, the game on brief pause. Draco didn’t have a rebuttal, simply fuming at himself for adding to the already heated trials in his head. O’Donnic was screaming louder than Draco had ever imagined, his coach’s focus entirely on him, and Draco gulped. “I warned ya not to do anything _stupid_! Sit your pompous arse on the bloody bench!”

The Magpies used this to their advantage, restructuring their plays with their full roster of players. Draco sunk his face into his palms, groaning at his own stupidity and stewing over his growing list of mistakes. He didn’t dare look at Ron, knowing the competitive git would be burning holes at him from in front of the rings - he couldn’t bare that added disappointment right now.

Without Draco flying center, the team would surely lose. They would have been better off starting Halloway at this rate. If Harry didn’t catch the Snitch soon, the game would surely be lost. Draco sunk further on the bench, his coach ignoring his presence as he peered up at the advancing opponents on the Pitch.

Draco had his head still buried in his face, shame and anger flooded him and he refused to watch. When cheers roared around him, he knew it was done. By the sound of the cursing and bellowing of his coach, it wasn’t their team to come out on top. Another smack to the back of his head forced Draco to peer up, Ron was there, his face as red as the hair on his head.

“What the bloody _fuck_ , Malfoy?” Ron was snarling, an uneasy Harry looking on behind him, his own regrets displaying on his face. Draco wasn’t focused on the dark haired boy, only eying the hot blooded ginger standing over him. “If you weren’t so busy _parading_ around with Harry maybe we would have won the bloody game!”

Draco snapped back out of instinct and defense, standing abruptly and a mere inch from Ron’s face. He caught the hitch in Ron’s breathing at the sudden closeness of his proximity.

“Parading with _Potter_? Listen to yourself, Weasley! You-”

“I’ve seen you two! Not to mention the bloody Prophet! I’m _not_ blind!” Ron took a half step back, expanding the space between them as he puffed his chest. “But it doesn’t matter right? Malfoy _always_ gets what he wants.”

Draco scoffed, knowing that what he _wants_ is standing right in front of him. Harry cleared his throat, clearly coming into clarity of the situation at hand for the first time. Ron craned his neck to Harry, turning his anger momentarily on his best friend.

“And _you_! Surely someone as keen on finding a Snitch as you do could see what was going on?” Harry lowered his eyes, he had _not_ seen.

“Ron, if you would jus-” Draco tried, but Ron cut him off again, all but groaning in frustration at Ron’s stubbornness.

“Just go, _slink_ off! It’s what you’re used to, yeah?”

“That’s not-”

“Draco _bloody_ Malfoy: the _disappointment_.”

That did it. Draco could feel the vein in his neck as he screamed back at Ron, done listening to his stubborn arse insult him further when he was trying to make amends.

“Ron! You _massive_ ginger prick!”

“What?”

The expression on Ron’s face was pure shock. Draco knew it was because he had allowed Ron to be the dominant one for too long, and it went straight to the man’s head. WIthout a second’s thought, Draco gripped Ron by the collar of his robes, pulling Ron into him and pressing their lips together. Ron was stiff at first, Draco nipping his bottom lip and not releasing his hold. Ron eventually returned the fervor, Draco feeling a wave of heat from the contact of his now moving lips. Draco missed the way Ron’s chapped clumsy lips felt against his own, the way he flicked his tongue and took charge.

There were gasps all around them, but neither of them cared - at least while they stood there locked together, Ron’s hands finding Draco’s waist. Draco could feel how much Ron missed his mouth too, and he took advantage of that for as long as Ron would allow. When they reluctantly pulled apart, both breathing wildly, Draco watched as Ron’s eyes grew wide, noticing the attention from not only his nearby teammates and coach, but the entire Pitch. At some point during their kiss, the magically enhanced screen above had them both on display. Draco reached up and guided Ron’s focus back to him.

“You are a _fucking_ idiotic, jealous, _selfish_ , arsehole who _doesn’t_ listen.” Draco’s tone was soft, but stern, and Ron peered at him dumbfoundedly.

Harry slowly came into view, awkwardly leaning forward in between the reunited lovers.

“He’s right, Ron. You really don’t”

“Shut up, _Harry_!” Ron bellowed, shoving him away playfully with his arm, his gaze turning back to meet Draco’s sparkling gray eyes.”But I thought-” Ron bit his bottom lip, erupting a shrug of his shoulders. “You know. _The Chosen One_ and all that.”

Draco breathed a laugh, pulling Ron closer to him, his hands still resting loosely on the collar of Ron’s robes. “Ron, I want _you_. I’m done looking for _Seekers_. I need a _Keeper_.”

The corner of one side of Ron’s lips curled, displaying his signature lopsided smile.

“You _corny_ bastard.” Ron was glowing red again, but this time not from anger. Draco inched closer.

“C’mon. You loved it.” Draco was smiling, watching as Ron sheepishly released a laugh and his shoulders untensed.

“It _did_ kind of work.” And he leaned in, capturing Draco’s lips once more, no longer worried about the forming crowd around them.

**Author's Note:**

> **This work is part of an ongoing fest.**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Please feel free to leave love/comments for the author either here, [on LJ](https://ron-draco-fest.livejournal.com/), or [DW](https://ron-draco-fest.dreamwidth.org/).


End file.
